


Merry Christmas, fuckhead

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: 16th & 17th Century CE RPF
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, giant poet cuddlepile, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 15,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what you get for trying to die of something embarrassing yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.12.

Kit wakes up to the sound of his door clicking shut, and the obnoxious glare of streetlights in his eyes. It's not his preferred way of waking up, especially not when his mobile informs him that it's barely seven yet when he turns to check the time.

He grumbles, rearranges his pillows, and is almost ready to fall asleep again when the lights of a passing car flash over the wall and remind him why he woke up in the first place. So instead, he stands, and makes his way over to the window to draw the curtains shut once more. Only, when he reaches the window, there are no curtains to be drawn. Instead, there is a strange contraption hanging from the curtain rail, a number of lumpy things on a string. It looks faintly menacing against the light from the street.

Kit pokes it, and it swings back and forth silently, neither exploding nor trying to eat him. So he reaches for one of the lumps to examine it more closely. It's something wrapped in packing paper, with neatly folded edges and a minimum of sticky tape. It's entirely undecorated apart from a number written on it in thick, black pen. It's large enough to read, even in the dim light, and further examination shows that every single one of the lumps have a number written on them, in various hands.

It takes Kit a while to find the piece numbered _1_ , clumsily wrapped and involving decidedly more sticky tape than anything reasonably should, and the number on it scrawled hastily and covered in yet more tape, the pen having left tears in the paper.

After some cursing and application of teeth, fingernails, and finally a pocketknife, the parcel finally comes away from the string, and Kit takes it over to his bed, curling up in his blankets again before tearing it open.

A vast variety of plastic-wrapped things pour over his hands, without any explanation. Kit growls at them, and reaches to turn on the bedside lamp. The collection of plastic spilt over his pillow turns out to be a strange and random mixture of candy, chocolates, novelty condoms, and a pink post-it note.

Kit picks it up, hoping to find an explanation his still half-asleep brain can comprehend. Instead, it reads "Merry Christmas, fuckhead. Try not to die of something embarrassing yet again" in the same hasty, unpractised scrawl. On the back of it, someone rather more calm has added "It's an advent calendar, sleepyhead. It shall only get worse from here on in. With love," and here the sentence stops, and the rest of the space is taken up by six signatures. Kit doesn't need to read them to know how he has to thank for this rather rude wake-up call. Instead, he closes his fist around the note, paper creasing and tearing against his fingers, carelessly brushes the presents off his pillow, and curls up to fall asleep again.

There will be time enough to deal with this later on.


	2. Christmas Shopping

The second parcel is wrapped much more neatly, though still far from the perfect straight lines shown in far too many advertisements. The number is written in black ink, not entirely suited for the water-resistant wrapping paper and smudged slightly because of that.

When Kit opens it, it holds a small cardboard box containing a pair of scissors, some ghastly coloured ribbons, a roll of sticky tape, and various giftcards. There is no explanation added, and Kit isn't entirely certain why he should need 50 pound sterling to buy office supplies, or another thirty for make-up.

He is almost prepared to do the same he did yesterday, ignore and hope it goes away again when his bedroom door clicks open.

"Good morning," Will greets him, holding a cup of coffee in his outstretched hand, and Kit isn't sure if it's supposed to serve as a shield or as a peace offering, but it is coffee, and Kit is going to drink it.

He doesn't say thanks before the cup is empty, and Will doesn't seem to mind.

"I see you have gotten today's gift."

Kit nods.

"You know what day it is?"

"The second of December?"

"And?"

Kit shrugs. It's bound to be something else, but he can't recall, and he doesn't feel like trying.

Will sighs. "When was the last time you left the apartment?"

Kit shrugs again.

It's silent for a moment, while Will seems to be trying to adjust to this new information.

"Right," he finally says, his hands on his hips, and his entire posture radiating determination. "You are going to take a shower, and then shave, and then get dressed, and then we will buy Christmas presents for everyone. It's early, and it's a Tuesday, and there won't be too many people out. An hour, and then we'll be back here."

Kit sighs, and then grumbles, and then tries to shoo Will out of his room to sleep some more, but Will isn't going to budge, not when it comes to doing what he thinks is the right thing. Instead, barely twenty minutes later, Kit finds himself in a small and impossibly clean car, shivering slightly, and wondering where Will is driving them.

There isn't any Christmas music on the radio, and Will is still humming or singing along to whatever questionable popsong has made the charts this week, and as much as Kit would prefer not being outside, he is surprisingly comfortable. That is, until he starts to fall asleep again, and Will starts asking questions and trying to engage him in conversation.

When that doesn't work, he switches tracks and starts explaining to Kit what the plans for today are. And while Kit is glad to finally know the reason behind his strange present, he isn't entirely certain he wants to be buying Christmas gifts for anyone. It just seems wrong, somehow, when he should have been dead weeks, maybe even months or years ago. But there is nothing he can do about that now, when Will is enthusiastically talking about Christmas lists and how Ben really wants a decent fountain pen, one that won't keep breaking and getting ink all over his fingers, and how Kyd had been saying something about decent socks, which totally meant that Kit needed to buy him the most ridiculous socks in existence, and then there is the fact that Edward and Richard had been complaining loudly and at length about stage make-up, and how it was nice that it was cheap, but it was also horrible make-up, and not something anyone should want on their faces for any length of time, so that would need remedy as well.

Kit is already peremptorily tired by the time they arrive at whatever shopping centre hell Will has found them, and when Will pulls a shopping list and a pen out of his pockets, the temptation to just wait in the car becomes near-overwhelming. But Will laughs and takes his hand, and there is nothing Kit can do but follow, since there is no possible way he could allow Will to stop touching him.

He must be acting like a besotted puppy, it occurs to him about thirty minutes later, when Will is putting yet another plastic bag with yet another unwrapped gift into his free hand, and doesn't even really look up, just let's Will unbend his fingers and then re-bend them again to hold whatever he is holding now secure.

When Will starts leading him back to the car, Kit is ready to fall asleep again, tired and vaguely hungry, and not entirely certain why he had to tag along for this. Of course, there's no such luck. The second Kit relaxes, Will starts grinning broadly.

"No falling asleep now. I need you awake when we get home, you have to wrap the presents. I did the shopping after all."

Kit doesn't tell him to fuck off, but it's a close thing. Instead, he demonstratively falls asleep as soon as he's in the car again.


	3. Mince Pies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like it noted that when I started writing this eleven hours ago, I had no idea what a mince pie actually is, and while I have learnt quite a bit about that, I have never actually prepared or eaten a mince pie.  
> So all inaccuracies are the fault of either plot fairies or google.

This morning's parcel is wrapped with almost mathematical precision, and Kit feels doubly bad about his abysmal performance yesterday. Will had been alternatively cursing him and laughing himself sick. But unwrapping this gift only reveals a small, leather-bound notebook and a black fountain pen. There is no note, though the first page of the book reads, in Ben's best handwriting, "you mentioned that you would very much like to have one of these some weeks ago", and Kit wonders where the catch is.

There is no mockery, no admonitions, nothing to indicate that any of this has any sort of evil plans attached to it. And Ben is usually brilliant at evil plans. So Kit does what he probably should have done days ago, and gets dressed and goes to find Ben to say thanks.

Ben, surprisingly enough, is standing in the kitchen, in a field of pots and pans and various ingredients, cursing and grumbling. There's a cook book on the counter, held open with strips of marking tape. Another book is propped against a giant bag of apples. They are both open to a recipe for mince pies. Kit coughs, loudly.

Everything seems to freeze for a second, before Ben whirls around, yet another cook book in his hands. A book which he drops carelessly when he recognises Kit, and then everything gets just a bit blurry for a moment, before Kit finds himself caught in a hug that would crush a lesser man.

"You've made it out of bed," Ben eventually says, voice perfectly even.

Kit shrugs, and mumbles something that might be a yes, coming from a healthier man.

Ben doesn't seem to notice or care, instead dragging Kit to sit down at the kitchen table, and then collecting the various books to place in front of him.

"Will is apparently researching something, and he wants me to make mince pie. Help me."

Kit looks at the books, looks at Ben, and then looks at the books again. "How?", he asks.

Ben shrugs. "You're the one with the university degree. I'm just a bricklayer."

"I'm fairly certain they don't teach how to make mince pies at university. I do literature and linguistics, not baking."

"Then go and convince Will that no one needs mince pies to happen."

"… did you ever try to convince Will of something?"

Ben sighs deeply, and turns his attention back to the books.

"Why does he want you to make mince pies?" Kit eventually asks.

"He wants to know how difficult it is."

"And he's not doing it himself, because?"

"He said he already knows how to make them, so it wouldn't be accurate."

"Do I want to know why he wants to know?"

This question is answered by Ben shaking his head almost violently.

So Kit gives in, and picks up one of the books Ben isn't currently studying. The recipe seems simple enough, only calling for things to be mixed in the right proportions, but there seems wide and loud disagreement over what, precisely, those things and proportions should be. And then, of course, one of the recipes calls for caramelising of cranberries, and Kit isn't entirely certain why anyone should ever even contemplate making such a horribly sugary-sweet object even more sugary-sweet.

And then Ben almost slams the book he's holding closed, and declares, "I don't even like currants. Nobody likes currants."

"Then don't put any currants in it?"

"But I don't like any sort of candied or dried fruit!"

Kit sighs, and closes the book. "Then don't use any of them. You have apples enough to feed half an army."

"So, if I now tell you I don't like mince pies, you'll tell me not to make any?"

"Not if Will asked you to."

"So. Apples, suet, minced meat, and a lot of sugar?"

"Sounds about right."

So Ben finally picks up some apples, and one of the pots, and then they spend almost a quarter of an hour peeling and cutting apples, and then trying to figure out if those should be caramelised, since it seems fairly impossible, but sounds like a hilarious thing to try.

In the end, they don't, instead deciding to just mix the apples with the remaining ingredients, and then put it on the stove, since if it's cooked, it will at least be sterile, no matter how much they might mess up any further steps in the process.

The rest of the recipe looks deceptively simply, only requiring pie crust to be made and filled. And of course, that's where it all goes wrong. There are far too many different recipes, and none of them are entirely clear on needs to be done, and how much or quickly it needs doing. It should be easy, just mixing flour and butter and a bit of water and salt, but somehow, it just doesn't work.

The consistency goes from too crumbly to almost liquid to dusty to tasteless, and no matter what they do, they can't get it into any form that would make it look like a pie crust. And meanwhile, the rather questionable mix of apples and suet and meat is bubbling merrily, smelling quite nicely.

Of course, the peace and quiet don't last. Will comes into the kitchen at exactly the same moment Kit manages to spill the remaining flour all over the table, when Ben tries to help, their rather sad attempts at pie crust joins the flour.

"I take it it's more complicated than it looks?" Will asks, laughter lurking behind his voice.

Kit just holds up his hands, bits of dough sticking to them, and Ben actually growls at Will.

Will stands, taking in the chaos spread surprisingly evenly all over the kitchen, and then goes to take a closer look at the pot still standing on the stove. "You are aware that usually, most recipes for mince pies don't have actual meat in them?" he asks after a long, long pause.

Ben shouts at him. Kit isn't sure if there are any words to it, or if it's just a general expression of frustration and anger, but it does make Will flinch, so he counts it as a win.

Will sighs, and turns to look at the mess once more. "Do you have any more flour?"

Kit doesn't even check, he just denies it, and then starts trying to tidy up. It's been some hours already, and he doesn't think more trying would improve their attempts. And without any explanation of what they are actually trying to learn, this doesn't seem like a useful thing to do any longer.

"So, you think it can be done?" Will asks.

Ben makes a face at him.

"Can what be done?" Kit asks.

Will looks at him for a moment, apparently only just realising that he's present too. "I'm writing something. It has people baked into a pie. And I thought maybe I should see how difficult that would be for someone who never did it before."

Kit takes a moment to process this, and then decides that clearly, Ben has the right idea in just making a face at Will.

"You know that once the clock strikes, it'll stay like that," Will says, and then turns to the stove to poke at the filling yet again. "You're not going to throw this out, are you?"

Kit keeps making a face.

"Add some carrots and potatoes, and maybe onions, and then you can make a fairly decent soup of it, maybe?" Ben eventually suggests.

Kit stops making a face at Will, and turns to stare at Ben. "No one likes soup," he says.

And suddenly Ben's frustration is turned fully on Kit, and there is a hand grabbing his hair, forcing his head up to meet Ben's gaze. "You. Are the last person. Allowed to complain about food. You managed to almost die of a common cold because apparently, you couldn't be arsed to actually eat anything after almost dying of being stabbed. I will make soup of this, and you will eat it, and you will not complain, is that understood?"

Kit tries to nod, and then realises that he still can't move his head. "Yes," he says.

Ben lets him go, and stands. "Wonderful. Go wash your hands, and then go back to bed. I'm sure there's something you can read to keep yourself busy. I'll come get you when dinner's finished."

Kit leaves, feeling oddly chastised. So apparently, there was an ulterior motive to today's gift, and he just had been too naïve to notice that what Ben had wanted was just to get him to come out of his room, and then inflict a horrible plan on him that would allow Ben to feed him.

But given the choice between worrying about it and having a nap, the nap is clearly the better and less stressful option, so it's not too much of a question.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have yet another traditiony thing I have never heard of, and I'm also still a bit loopy from donating blood, so please excuse the vaguely disjointed nature of today's entry. Tomorrow should be better.

Today's offering is a tiny envelope, and an even tinier note inside informing him that after having actually eaten a decent meal yesterday, he surely must have the strength for an adventure today, and then politely requesting him to shower and shave and get dressed.

Kit thinks about refusing, and then considers that the note was written by Edward and Richard, and decides that this is probably going to happen, whether he resists or not, and he might as well safe himself the bother.

When he gets out of the bathroom fully dressed and trying to brush his hair into some semblance of order, Edward is waiting for him with a cup of a tea and a slice of bread. Kit accepts both, and the hairbrush, suddenly subject to gravity again, tries to fall down, only to be stuck in the tangled mess of Kit's hair.

Edward heaves a sigh, and Kit is placed on the next best chair, and then Edward starts trying to fix the consequences of having disorderly hair that was left alone for the better part of a month. It's slow going and, Kit suspects, not entirely successful. By the time he has eaten what seems to be his breakfast, Edward simply growls at him, and then ties his hair into a messy ponytail before dragging hi towards the door.

"You need a haircut," he declares.

"That's not an adventure."

"With hair like yours? It is. But not the one we're having today."

"Then what is it?"

Edward smiles at him, in a rather worrying way, and then Kit is blindfolded, and Richard's laughter is the only thing keeping him from panicking.

"It's a surprise," Richard says.

"Just relax and come along," Edward says.

Kit doesn't say anything, and instead settles for making a face at them. Which probably doesn't work too well with a dark cloth covering half his face, but at least he tried.

He is led through various crowds and public transport stations, Edward and Richard incessantly talking about acting and the new play Will is working on. Kit walks between them, silently, minding steps and gaps as directed, and he is fairly certain that if he were paying attention, he would have a fairly accurate idea of where they might be, but there is no need to. For one, they would tell him sooner or later, and for another, it was decidedly too much effort when he could instead try to fall asleep while standing upright.

They are standing in line somewhere, and it's loud and smells of too many people when Kit's blindfold is finally removed. It doesn't take long for Kit to notice that mostly, they are surrounded by families with children, and they are getting strange looks. But he's still flanked by two men noticeably taller and broader than him, so there isn't much he can do about it.

He only realises that he will be made to talk to Santa Claus when they've made it to the front of the line, and heavy hands closing around his upper arms and shoulders prevent him from moving.

"Oh, you've gotten him out of bed, then," Santa Claus asks.

Kit curses when he recognises the voice.

"Hey, no cursing, otherwise you won't get anything nice for Christmas," Kyd admonishes.

"Why am I here?" Kit asks.

"Oh, well, we didn't know what you wanted for Christmas, what with the whole almost dying. And we figured since you probably didn't get up to much bad while sick and asleep, so you could just try and tell me what you want for Christmas, like all the other kids have done?" Kyd ask.

Then, of course, he pats his thighs, motioning for Kit to sit down, as though this wasn't already humiliating enough. But there is no way out of this, not when Kyd, of all people, seems to have found himself a job pretending to be Santa Claus just for some twisted plan of 'let's stop Kit from dying in embarrassing ways'.

So Kit sits down, and Kyd ruffles his hair, and says "So tell me, have you been good this year?"

"What is this, confession?" Kit growls at him.

"It's standard procedure."

"No, I haven't, I've gotten myself almost killed in several different ways. Does that mean I can go now?"

Kyd's arms close around him, and Kit finds himself in a surprisingly comforting hug. "Did you apologise and make amends for what you've done?"

"No?"

"Will you?"

"If you make me."

Kyd sighs, and then seems to give up. "What would you like for Christmas, then?"

Kit doesn't have an answer. There are things he can't ask for, and things he doesn't think he's allowed to want, but nothing he could tell Kyd about, so he just shrugs, and then shakes his head, and hopes they will leave him alone.

"Anything? Chocolate cookies? World peace? You have to have some idea."

Kit shakes his head again, but apparently he won't be allowed to leave before he can come up with a wish, and so he turns to hide his face against Kyd's shoulder, and mumbles, just barely audible, "Can I just have a hug and go home again?"

Kyd laughs, and then draws a careful cross on Kit's forehead, and tells him, "If you keep being good, and there are no further near death experiences, then yes."

Kit doesn't hit him, and doesn't say anything, just hugs Kyd for a second, and stands, feeling tired and vaguely confused. No one will have learnt anything from this about Kit's Christmas wishes, and it feels like busy work, in a strange way, get Kit out of his room and make him do a thing once a day.

"This wasn't an adventure," he complains when he's walking away again, Edward and Richard still flanking him.

"No, it wasn't. You'll have your adventure in a second," Richard tells him, and drags him to the nearest hairdressers.

Kit growls at him, and then promptly falls asleep, trusting his friends not to have anyone do anything horrible to his hair.


	5. Christmas Carols

It's barely light out when Kit wakes up, breathing heavily and his heart pounding. He isn't sure what he dreamt of, but it can't have been anything good. And chances are, falling asleep is not something he will manage any time soon.

Instead, he rolls out of bed, and goes to check his advent calendar. Today's parcel is again wrapped with an almost demonstrative lack of care and attention, and Kit wonders absentmindedly who Nashe thinks he is trying to fool with it. It's probably better than proclaiming his heterosexuality at every turn, but it still sometimes feels like Nashe doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to be part of whatever it is they are to each other. And yet, any chance Nashe gets to leave, or even just to take a break for an even, maybe even get laid, he ends up declining, and descends into a horrible mood for a day or two afterwards, and then everything is back to normal. Maybe they should talk, Kit thinks, but there is always the risk of Nashe finally giving up if he finds himself forced to talk about his feelings, and it's not a chance Kit is willing to take.

Instead, he tears open the gift wrapping, with an equal amount of care as went into applying it, and then turns over the small wooden box and the note coming with it in hopes of an explanation.

The box is locked, multiple times, as though Nashe didn't trust a single lock to keep Kit out, and the note reads, in loopy and carefully clumsy letters, "you get the key once you've eaten another bowl of vegetable soup". Kit smiles, almost touched, and then turns the note over, to find a postscript, letters hasty and uneven, telling him "Ben made me write this, I don't care if you eat your soup or not".

Beneath that, in even tinier letters, a hand trained in making notes and correcting papers, Will has written, "the lady doth protest too much methinks".

Kit laughs, and is still laughing when he goes to wake Nashe. If he is to eat soup in order to learn what today's gift is, he wants a witness. He doesn't even stop to be embarrassed about just how easily he has been played. It's not worth the effort, and of course his curiosity will get the better of him, there is no point in resisting that. Especially when the worst that could happen is vegetable soup.

Nashe makes a face at him, and then grumbles something not entirely awake, and then grabs Kit's wrist, and by the time Kit has regained his balance, he finds himself being used as a teddy bear by a rather sleepy poet.

It's not uncomfortable, not by any sensible definition of the word, but Kit had different plans.

"You said I could have the key after I ate some soup," he tells Nashe.

Nashe grumbles again, and then lets go of Kit. "What do you want?"

"The key."

"Soup first."

"I need a witness, don't I?"

Nashe growls at him, but then does get out of bed, and follows him to the kitchen.

Kit microwaves a bowl of soup, carefully checked and approved by Nashe, and it's quiet and far too early, but Kit is curious, and Nashe won't complain as long as he has someone to cuddle.

It's not an ideal breakfast by any stretch of the imagination, but it's soup, and therefore approved food for whatever plan of 'stop Kit from doing something phenomenally stupid' Ben must have set in motion, so there won't be any point in complaining.

Instead, Kit settles for eating the soup as quickly as he possibly can, almost burning his tongue on it, and Nashe is watching him, somewhere between amused and asleep.

And then, he finally hands Kit a handful of keys, and the locks falls away one after the other, and finally the box opens. And starts playing the most obnoxious Christmas carol Kit ever heard. He doesn't punch Nashe, but he's very, very close to doing so.

"I'm sure there is some reason behind this?"

Nashe shrugs. "Can't have you think I care, can I?"

It's as much of a confession or explanation he's ever going to get, and so Kit looks at the box again, removes the singing card that has been placed to be opened along with the box, and finds beneath it a surprisingly large selection of those horrible handmade chocolates he loves so much but can't ever justify buying for himself.


	6. Mistletoe

The next gift is a small leather book. It reads 'How to feed yourself when you have neither time, interest nor care' on the cover, with no author given. Kit opens it, curiously, but not entirely surprised.

The first page reads, in feather-light letters, "I know you might not want to, but here's about a hundred and forty seven rules on how not to ever almost die on us again, please."

And Kyd is the last one allowed to complain about Kit almost dying, not when he…

Kit drops the book, and then has to sit down, the realisation like being punched in the stomach. Kit did this to himself, careless and reckless and simply too caught up in the horror spring had brought to notice how it spiralled and danced and hurt everyone else, too. And Kyd almost hadn't made it, despair and anger in equal measure, and with everything falling apart around them, there really hadn't been too much reason for him to hang on. Taking risk he shouldn't have taken, and without Kit there to stop him, to keep him safe, he'd… And Kit doesn't want to think about it, about how they had been tempting fate at every turn, going where they shouldn't go because neither of them had thought it mattered.

Kit takes a deep breath, picks up the book again, turns the page. It doesn't get better. There are instructions about breakfast, cereal and milk and chocolate and orange juice, and time and rules, and Kit actually checks his alarm clock, and then the book again, barely nine and therefore breakfast time still.

He stands, goes to the kitchen, wondering how long until people will stop feeding him again.

He's standing under the kitchen doorway, watching Kyd poking at something on the stove, and the words stumble out of his mouth before he can think them through, "You're not cooking more vegetable soup, are you?"

Kyd laughs, soft and happy. "Don't worry, Ben said to feed you something more substantial."

And then, he looks up, and sees Kit standing there, and he actually smiles, somewhere between gleeful and threatening.

He walks over, steady and slow, as though giving Kit a chance to move, and stops just a few feet away, says, "Look up."

Kit does, and there is mistletoe taped to the doorframe, and Kyd leans in, kissing him, the lightest of touches, just like his handwriting, and it's a strange thought, almost painful. So Kit does what any reasonable man would do, presses closer, deepens the kiss.

Kyd tastes of toothpaste and coffee, and it's strange, strange and painful and the most comforting thing imaginable, so Kit doesn't mind too much. And apparently, there will be breakfast happening afterwards.

It's not perfect, it might not even be good yet, but things are definitively getting better.


	7. Christmas Cards

This morning, there are candycanes in assorted colours and flavours, and a note of Ben's reading "and to think that you believed I had no ulterior motive". Kit sighs, reminds himself not to be surprised, picks up his new fancy fountain pen, and then goes to eat breakfast, as instructed.

The kitchen table is covered in various envelopes, cards, poststamps, pens, yet more pens, glitter, ribbons, and half-empty cups of coffee. Nashe sits, apparently asleep, at one corner of the table, one hand clinging to a cup of coffee as to a lifeline. Will seems be thinking about something or other while absentmindedly sucking on his pen, his lips dyed a rather unhealthy-looking blue already. Edward seems to be the only one actually writing any sort of Christmas cards, and he looks up at the sound of Kit's footsteps.

"Ben went to buy some milk and tea and things, but there's porridge on the stove, and if you ask nicely, Nashe might be willing to share his coffee."

"Like hell I will," Nashe says, pulls his cup closer, and then resumes the pretence of being asleep.

Kit eats breakfast, watching Edward sign card after card, sorting them into various stacks, which Will occasionally picks up and flips through, signing some of them, and folding others into envelopes. Nashe, eventually waking up, joins them at some point, addressing envelopes apparently at random.

Kit picks up one of the cards Will signed, and opens it. It's just a standard issue Christmas card, a Merry Christmas and a signature, but no name. "Who are all those cards even supposed to be for?"

Edward shrugs. "Ben has the plan. I'm just doing what he told me to."

"Then what am I supposed to do here?"

"Help, of course. Here's your list."

The list in question seems to be written in some kind of shorthand, either Ben's or Kyd's, practiced but careless. It's simple enough, names and addresses according to a system Kit doesn't quite understand, but he picks up the first card, signs it, finds an envelope, copies down the address, and sets it aside, to be signed later of by everyone else.

It's silent in the kitchen, scratching of metal and ink over paper, and at some point Nashe goes to make more coffee, and the Richard joins them, stealing almost all the coffee Nashe just made. It's not the worst thing to do on a Sunday morning, Kit thinks.

Especially once Ben and Kyd come back from their shopping trip, bringing along more chocolate and cookies than any reasonable adult should ever buy, and there might be cookie crumbs all over their Christmas cards now, but then again, there weren't any Christmas cards at all, last year, so Kit is perfectly willing to count this as progress.


	8. Wrapping Paper

Kyd actually brings him the next gift, when Kit manages to sleep until almost ten. It's a book, old and faded pages, soft around the edges, maybe a hundred years, a bit more. It's one more Ovid translation Kit didn't have and had never heard of, and the words are predictably clumsy and flowery, English bending and curling in a way Latin never would, and it's perfect in all its imperfections.

Kit hugs the book close, and then starts considering the implications. Even if it's from a second hand bookstore, and not all that rare, it's still extremely valuable to him, yet another translation to work with, trying to find just the right words in a language that couldn't be more different.

"Don't look like I'll try to take it away again. We're just supposed to remind you that gifts need wrapping after they have been bought. There's paper in the kitchen somewhere," Kyd says.

He sets down something on the nightstand but Kit doesn't look, too busy with his new book. He does move aside when Kyd starts poking at him, and even lets him share the blanket without really noticing. Then, of course, Kyd starts waving a hand before his eyes.

"Put that book aside for a second, will you? I've brought breakfast."

Kit sighs, but puts the book aside, and they eat in silence. There is a distinct absence of any sort of cereal, but fresh coffee and toast, and there is little point in complaining now.

He is almost falling asleep again, food and warmth making him more sleepy than anyone should be after a full night's sleep. But peace and quiet cannot last in a home like this, and the second Kit's eyes slide closed, someone opens the door, louder than should be physically possible, and then Nashe is dropping a roll of garishly decorated wrapping paper on the bed.

"I'm an unwelcome reminder of wrapping duties, and Will said…" Nashe starts, and then noticed Kyd's presence. "You're cuddling, and you didn't invite me? Move over."

They do, obligingly, and Nashe curls up between them, purring happily, ignoring all duties and reminders. Kit and Kyd share a look, and then turn to examine the wrapping paper more closely. Nashe doesn't seem to mind, as long as at least one of them keeps petting his hair.

The paper is mostly green and red, gold and glitter running over it in uneven lines, and it takes Kit a while to realise that it's supposed to show a Christmas tree up close. He isn't sure who made the decision to buy it, but he sincerely hopes that no one will actually use it. And then Nashe takes the paper out of Kyd's hands, drops it to the floor, and pulls them closer again.

"Cuddles. No paper," he says.

It takes some re-arranging to make everyone comfortable, and they end up using Nashe as a pillow, and Kit isn't entirely sure how he breathes like that, but there are no complaints, and Kit is unwilling to break the silence.

The door clicks open again, Edward coming inside holding another roll of rather terrible paper, this one bright pink.

"Nashe? You were supposed to bring them back, not join them," he says.

Nashe makes some sort of noise, and manages to free one hand to wave Edward closer. "It's nice here, you should stay," he says.

"You're a menace," Edward says, but he joins them, sitting down next to Kit, leaning against the headboard, and absentmindedly petting Nashe's hair. "Does anyone know who's responsible for the wrapping paper, actually? We can't really use that, can we?"

"Will, maybe," Kit says.

"Not Ben," Nashe says.

"Wasn't me," Kyd says, and then reaches across their cuddle pile to grab Edwards free hand, just to make sure that everyone gets equal amounts of touching.

"It was an accident," Ben says, leaning against the doorframe.

They all turn to look at him, the worry that they might be required to get up and actually wrap anything in yet more garish paper almost touchable.

Ben rolls his eyes, and then holds up a roll of bright, rainbow-coloured, worryingly sparkling paper. "I happened to mention to an elderly relative that we didn't wrap gifts, since we never had suitable paper. I think she meant well."

He drops the paper, and then closes the door behind him. Then, he walks over to the bed and sits down at the foot of it, leaning against the wall the bed is placed next to, not quite touching any of them, but apparently comfortable enough.

The quiet spell has been broken, though, and Ben catches sight of the book Kit is still holding on to, and they're quietly debating translations before long, quoting Ovid back and forth at each other, Kyd's eyes fluttering shut, the language no more than a pleasant lilting, like a song to his ears, while Nashe listens half-heartedly, simply not interested enough to pay closer attention.

When the door opens again, Edward is the only one to look up. Richard comes inside, holding up a scrap of yet more questionable wrapping paper by way of explanation. He curls up next to Ben, uses Ben's thigh as a pillow, and Ben absentmindedly starts running a hand through his hair, never interrupting his discussion with Kit.

Edward, meanwhile, picks up the paper Richard held. It's baby-blue, with rose and red reindeer printed on it, sickeningly sweet and artistically embarrassing. He considers it for a moment, and then starts folding it into an airplane.

Will knocks on the doorframe several moments later. "I've made lunch. Are you coming?"

There are various mumbled no's, and Will sighs and leaves again.

It's not a good sign, not with what happened before, not when Will has a history of feeling left out and simply withdrawing, and Kit has almost managed to feel worried when there is another knock on the doorframe, and everyone starts moving, trying to sit up, to various degrees of success.

Will drops two baking sheets with pizza on the bed between them, and then manages to squeeze himself on the bed, between Ben and Richard, and Kit is fiercely glad to have such a ridiculously big bed, especially when it means that they can have pizza for lunch, and never have to stop touching.

There will be stains and crumbs on the bed, and Kit will have to change the sheets sometime before tonight, but for now, he is perfectly happy to just sit here and enjoy his meal and the company.


	9. Mulled Wine

[This chapter is currently missing due to over-indulgence in mulled wine, and a regrettable lack of coherence on the part of the necessary characters. It shall be found and added as soon as they have all slept off the mulled wine and early Christmas cheer. Please excuse the inconvenience.]


	10. Christmas Jumpers

Today's gift is incredibly ill-fitting amongst the collection of small parcels and simple brown wrapping paper. For one, it's the size of a rather big encyclopaedia, and for another, it's wrapped in bright red paper with reindeers and Santa Clauses and glittery stars on it.

The handwriting is unfamiliar, as is the note _10 th of December, for Christopher Marlowe_. Kit can't even remember when someone last called him by his full name, and he is fairly certain that absolutely no one he'd like to receive gifts from would do it, either. But it is there, and his friends seemed to have seen fit to add it to the advents calendar, so he doesn't ask.

Instead, he tears the wrapping open, and finds something in a not entirely dissimilar colour inside. It's soft and fluffy and knitted, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realise that somebody had apparently bought him a Christmas jumper.

He picks it up, unfolds it, but before he can really look at it, a card appears from the folded wool, and he decides to read it first, in hopes of an explanation.

The handwriting is, once again, entirely unfamiliar. The message, however, is all the explanation he could want. "Dear Christopher. Our Tom told me you all had a bit of a rough year, and you might be in need of a bit of affection and parental support. There is not much advice I could give you, and you seem to have been doing fine, given the circumstances, but I thought a Christmas jumper might still be appreciated, as would the information that I count you, as all of Tom's friends, as my children. And I am proud of all of you. Lots of love, Margaret Nashe"

It takes a while for Kit to swallow the tears threatening to rise, and then he finally unfolds the jumper, finding it a simple and straightforward pattern, knitted in one go but without any frills or decorations apart from the perfectly black, cursive and curly 'C' worked into the pattern across the chest and the words 'if found, please return to Thomas Nashe' embroidered in carefully small letters across the back.

Kit pulls it on, and it fits perfectly, just large enough to hide in, and it's the warmest and most comforting thing he ever owned. He isn't entirely sure how he deserved it, and the promise to prove himself worthy of it comes almost automatically.


	11. Nativity/Pantomime, or how to stage a revolution against the Leekqueen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how the leeks happened, but they do seem to have a habit of doing that. I'm sorry, I'll talk to them, and see this won't repeat.

There had been breakfast, and then Kit had finally managed to get out of bed for long enough to get some work done, read over the last script he had been working on, figure out the blocking for the play Will was planning to open on Christmas, and then spent the rest of the afternoon with Richard and Edward and the collection of fairly disorganised actors the two had gathered around them. Kit wasn't sure which of them would be staying with the troupe and which ones would decide that it was too much effort for too little pay, but some of them appeared to be fairly promising, and measuring them for costumes was quite entertaining.

It's work Kit enjoys doing, trying to figure out people, see what roles they might fit and what other actors they might work well against, as far removed from an exact science as can be, but with a logic and system all of its own. And sure, most of them won't stay long enough that they would needs be able to perform in all or even most of their ever-growing collection of plays, but they were still almost guaranteed to stay for three or maybe four different plays, and it's a bit like making a school timetable, finding what fits where just well enough that there were no impossible overlaps and no unfillable gaps.

It's past five before they call it a day, and it's only then that Kit realises that he still doesn't know what his advents calendar holds for him today. And then, of course, it turns out that whatever seems to have been today's gift has mysteriously disappeared, to be replaced by a leek wearing a crown.

It also holds a note, declaring "I am the evil queen of leeks, and I have stolen this gift as you have forgotten to open it. Fear not, I shall give it a good home and a perfectly decent education and upbringing. This should teach you to be neglectful of your gifts again."

Kit takes the leek to the kitchen, where Ben and Nashe have managed to cover every flat surface with chopped vegetables in a stunning variety of shapes and colours.

"I had work to do, and I did eat breakfast. And lunch. Where do I exchange the leek?"

Ben glares at him. "She is the Leekqueen, and she will not be exchanged like this. Show some respect."

"She did, after all, give that poor neglected gift a home and education. You should be thankful."

Kit rolls his eyes, picks up the nearest knife, and turns to the sink to clean the leek. "I'll just have this for dinner then, if you don't mind. After all, it seems to have no other use."

"No! You cannot kill the Leekqueen! Traitor! Murderer!" Nashe shouts.

Ben actually laughs at this.

Kit shrugs, and turns on the tap. "I'm starting a revolution, can't you tell?"

"You can't do that! She's the queen!"

"And what, precisely, do you intend to do with that, then? Set it aside and wait for it to rot? That hardly seems respectful to me," Kit says, carefully removing the outer leek leaves and washing them.

Nashe gestures, and then opens his mouth to make a response, closes it again, gestures some more, and finally says, "Well, if that's what you want. I'm keeping the gift then, though."

At this, Kit actually turns around to stare at him. "Why are you so intent on me not eating this leek?"

Nashe shrugs. "There is nothing properly green for dinner, and if you make soup of this, there won't be, and that would be rather disappointing."

Kit looks at the leek, looks at Nashe, and then decides that clearly, he has the most ridiculous friends possible. He finishes cleaning the leek, and hands it to Nashe, and then holds out his hands.

"My gift, please?"

Nashe ignores him, focused on chopping the leek, separating the rings by colour and adding them to the proper places in the arrangement of colour according to some rather arcane pattern. Ben eventually heaves a sigh and stands.

He picks up the crown the leek had been wearing, turns to Kit, and tells him to kneel.

Kit blinks at him a few times, but the only reaction he gets is Ben repeating the command, and so Kit kneels, faintly confused and wondering if maybe this was some sort of strange dream.

"After the sad demise of our queen, we shall here crown the usurper, one Christopher Marlowe, as our new monarch. Long live the new Leekqueen!" Ben says, places the crown on Kit's head and helps him stand again. Then, he opens the cupboard over the fridge, re-arranges a few things, and takes out a carefully wrapped parcel, a neat _11_ written on the side. Kit rolls his eyes, but opens it. It holds a t-shirt, black cotton with a red blood-spatter-pattern and Kit had wanted one forever, but it had seemed weird, buying merchandise for something his boyfriend wrote, and so he had managed to resist the urge so far, and now Ben and Nashe, of all people, had bought it for him. He was sure the world didn't hold the right words to express his thoughts on the subject.

Instead, he took off his crown, and then the shirt he was currently wearing, replacing it with the new one, and then set the crown on his head again.

"Your Queen wishes to express her deep and abiding gratitude for such a well-considered gift, and as a reward, I shall bestow on you the dukedom of this very kitchen," he says.

Nashe actually laughs at that, and Ben smiles at him. Today has been a good day.


	12. Fairy Lights

[And once more I come bearing apologies rather than fic. It seems no one has entirely recovered from the mulled wine, yet. Accordingly, untangling fairy lights has not been an easy (or indeed possible) task so far. Rest assured, however, that there will be fairy lights come Christmas, and they will be used to spell out dirty words. Promise]


	13. Tinsel

One of the greatest mysteries of Christmas time is the tinsel. Kit never quite figured where it comes from, but he knows that around the middle of December, it will start. Slowly, usually, very slowly, just one or two strands in innocent locations like windowsills or lampshades, but it won't be removed and it won't be stopped.

It won't stay on the windowsills, multiplying too quickly to be contained, spilling onto the floors and chairs and couch and table and shelves, unrelenting. By the twentieth, they will find it in the fridge and as bookmarks and in shampoo bottles. It's not a problem. In fact, it is the very opposite of a problem. Kit just sometimes wishes he knew why it happens.

When he goes to open today's gift, though, he doesn't find any answers. What he finds, instead, is the beginning of the tinsel invasion, spilling over his hands and the floor. Hidden in between that, there is a pair of very thick, knee-length socks with a very Christmas-y pattern involving far too many dicks.

Kit rolls his eyes, and pulls on the socks, and then goes to carefully arrange the tinsel strands all over Will's bed and room, returning them to their rightful owner.


	14. Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has, to my great shame, more puppies than bells. But Quincey seemed happy enough about the puppies, so here goes.

Today's gift jingles merrily, and Kit opens it very, very cautiously. Or at least as cautiously as one can when a parcel is wrapped mostly in sticky tape with bits of wrapping paper in between.

Inside is a bright red dog collar, woven from some sort of synthetic material, bells carefully sewed along it. The tag on it has their address and phone number, and Kit's full name on it. There is another collection of sticky tape, this one holding a note, Nashe's handwriting near undecipherable, but accompanied with various footnotes from Richard and Edward, Kit can make out enough to know that he should get dressed, and that they were going somewhere.

Kit wonders for a moment whether he should be concerned about the choice of gift combined with such a lack of information, but they are his friends, and he's known them for years. He can't but trust them.

So he leaves his room in search for breakfast, and instead finds Edward and Richard waiting for him. And, technically speaking, Nashe as well. Though Kit is slightly doubtful as to whether 'asleep while using his friends as pillows' counts as waiting according to any sort of meaningful definition.

Kit hands the collar to Edward, and then tries to find something to eat that doesn't involve any cereal. Edward watches him for a while, and then finally seems to take pity.

"We'll get you something to eat on the way, if you'd rather," he suggests.

Kit smiles at him, surprised by how grateful he feels. "Cool. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise!" Nashe tells him.

Kit just looks at him.

"It's nothing bad, I promise you."

Kit keeps looking at him.

"Seriously, just trust us, it's going to be okay."

Kit sighs, but concedes defeat nonetheless. It seems Nashe is determined.

They take the car, and Kit doesn't know where they could possibly want to go on a Sunday morning that would provide a non-worrisome explanation for a dog collar studded with Christmas bells, and he might be just a bit too afraid to ask.

Instead, he tries to make himself comfortable and listens to Nashe and Edward bicker about music and driving. It's a familiar and strangely reassuring debate, and by the time Richard is shaking him awake again, the car is parked outside a farmhouse, and Kit is fairly certain he has never been here before.

They are greeted by an over-enthusiastic golden retriever and a girl of maybe ten or eleven running after her.

"Stay!" she's shouting, but the dog doesn't seem to care.

And admittedly, neither does Kit. He still isn't sure what is going on exactly, but as long as he gets to pet a dog, it will have been worth it.

By the time the girl reaches them, Kit has dog drool all over his face and hands, and the dog is still enthusiastically demanding to be petted. It's perfect, and Kit feels almost sad that whatever gift he might get will inevitably require him to leave here.

"Tara seems to like you," the girl says, by way of greeting. Then she adds, "I'll just go find mom then."

Kit smiles at her, and then goes back to petting the dog.

There seems to be some sort of conversation happening, but Kit really doesn't want to be paying attention. He looks up for a moment when Richard offers to help him stand, but ultimately, he currently cares more about the dog than about people.

Someone laughs, and Kit doesn't recognise the voice. "He really likes dogs, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Kit says. He doesn't look up. "Why?"

"There's something I should like to show you, if you come with me," the owner of the unfamiliar voice says.

Kit finally stops petting the dog and stands. Reluctantly.

He opens his mouth to apologise, finally realising how rude he has been so far, but the woman the voice belongs to just smiles at him. "It's good news, don't worry. Makes me a lot more confident that this is a good choice. But come now, I'm sure you must have other plans for today."

Kit shrugs and then nods, and then shrugs again. "Sorry," he says.

The woman just nods, and walks away, motioning for Kit and the others to follow. They do so, Kit vaguely confused, and Nashe, Richard, and Edward smiling gleefully, and generally giving a very good impression of children on Christmas morning.

Kit manages to get them to tell him that the woman's name is Dianne, though, and that he should just stop worrying.

They follow Dianne inside the house, and for a moment, it's just noise and warm and bright, and then Kit realises that there are puppies. Seven of them, tiny balls of happy fluff, and Kit forgets all about trying to be polite. He's kneeling on the floor, trying to pet all the puppies at the same time, and Nashe is laughing, joyful and pleased, like he has just done the most clever thing anyone has ever thought of.

Kit looks up, hugging two of the puppies, petting a third one. "Can I keep them?"

Nashe beams at him, and Richard and Edward exchange a Look. One with a capital letter. They seem to be rather proud of themselves, as well.

"One of them only, but yes, you can," Dianne tells him.

Kit doesn't know what to say for a moment. And then, he doesn't know which one to pick. They are all of them so fluffy, and Kit doesn't think he can chose, he just wants to keep them all. And then one of them manages to get close enough to slobber all over his face, and then starts to gnaw on Kit's hair.

When Kit tries to remove the puppy from his hair, said puppy holds perfectly still for a second, and then starts gnawing on Kit's fingers instead.

It's quiet for a moment, and then Kit asks "Can I keep him, please?"

"Her, actually, but if you want her, she's yours," Dianne says.

"What's her name?"

"She doesn't have one yet."

Kit considers this for a moment, absentmindedly poking the puppy so that she'll gnaw on another finger, trying to keep her from breaking his skin with her surprisingly sharp teeth. "Can I call her Artemis?"

Dianne nods at him, and then holds out her hand to help him stand. "Your friends took care of the necessary paperwork already," she tells him. "Let them take care of you. Keep them around if you can. They love you, you know."

"I know," Kit says, and smiles. "Thank you:"

He is still hugging Artemis close, and she seems perfectly happy to gnaw on his t-shirt after he's removed her from his hair for the third time. She does, however, hold perfectly still for Kit to fasten her collar, and when they're finally in the car and on their way back home, Kit finds himself squished between an incredibly affectionate puppy jingling merrily and an equally affectionate Nashe who seems torn between petting Artemis and cuddling Kit.

It's not what he would have expected the day to be when he woke up this morning. It's far, far better than that.


	15. Christmas Tree

Kit wakes up far, far too early in the morning, when Artemis decides that she really needs to go outside, now, and starts barking. Loudly.

Kit grumbles, and curses, and finally finds some suitable footwear. It's only when he's standing outside, shivering from the cold, that he realises that maybe, he should have found something other than his pyjamas to wear.

Artemis doesn't seem to mind (or notice) the cold, and seems intent on thoroughly examining her surroundings before finally doing what she needed to go outside for, and then, when Kit thinks that maybe, he could go inside again and try to unfreezes himself, she decides that clearly, more things need to be sniffed and chewed on, and Kit can't bring himself to drag her away from them when she is so enthusiastic about it.

So he stands and watches and tries to think of warm things for distraction. He doesn't know how long he has been standing when Ben shows up, carrying the tiniest Christmas tree Kit has ever seen.

"Morning," Ben says, apparently not quite awake yet, and Kit nods at him.

Half a moment passes, and then Ben actually looks at him.

"How long have you been out here?"

Kit shrugs.

Ben says something that isn't entirely comprehensible, but seems to be some sort of curse, grabs Kit's wrist, and drags him along back inside. Artemis, apparently still not done investigating her new home, whines in annoyance, and then simply refuses to move.

Ben glares at her, but he lets go of Kit, and leaves them alone for a second. Kit isn't entirely sure how to feel about that, but then again, he came out here on his own, it's not Ben's responsibility to make sure he'll come back inside.

Kit wonders for a moment how long it might take to cause permanent damage through exposure to cold, and then wonders if he can make himself care about it, but before he can quite finish the thought, Ben is back, without the Christmas tree. He picks up Artemis, and then grabs Kit's wrist again, and actually succeeds in getting both of them inside. He doesn't even get bitten or gnawed on, and Kit isn't sure whether this should be impressive or worrisome.

Ben makes him sit on the sofa, and then wraps him and Artemis in two different blankets, and Kit starts shivering again, wondering if he hasn't been cold, or if he just hasn't noticed before.

It's only a moment before Ben comes back, bearing today's gift for Kit's advents calendar and a cup of hot chocolate milk. Kit accepts both, and then has to convince Artemis that chocolate really isn't suitable for her, and Ben turns to fiddle with the Christmas tree he seems to just have dropped on the nearest convenient piece of floor before coming to rescue Kit.

There is cursing involved, and something about artificial trees being far superior, but by the time Kit has finished drinking, there is a tiny pine tree standing in their living room, and Ben has started to collect various bits and pieces of decoration spread all over the room.

Kit eventually stands to help, and Artemis wanders off to find someone else to pay attention to her. It's peaceful for a while, and Kit finds that whoever wrapped his gift and then labelled it with stickers instead of writing apparently decided that what their Christmas tree lacked was more gay. Or maybe more ridiculousness. Kit isn't sure which it is, but then again, a Star Trek ornament will provide both in sufficient measure.

A shout followed by excited barking breaks the silence, and then Kyd stumbles into the living room, wearing nothing but shorts and a very excited puppy trying to escape from being hugged and thereby prevented from gnawing on Kyd's hair, fingers, or any other part of him.

"You might have to teach her some manners," Kyd says, handing Artemis over to Kit.

Artemis, deciding to take this chance, runs the second she notices that there is no one stopping her. Kit and Kyd exchange a glance.

"She's going to wake up everyone, isn't she?" Kyd asks.

"Yes, she is," Will says, leaning against the doorframe, puppy in his arms. "There are worse ways of being woken up."

Then he sets Artemis down so that she can run to wake up yet more people, and picks up Kit's new and shiny Star Trek ornament to the Christmas tree. And it's a Monday morning, still far too early for any of them to seriously consider work, but Will is right. There are worse ways of being woken up. And worse situations to be awake in.


	16. Presents

Now that there is an actual Christmas tree in the living room, and the necessary fortifications to keep Artemis from doing anything stupid, inconvenient, or dangerous to it, suddenly presents start appearing. Kit isn't sure how he feels about that, especially seeing as he hasn't, so far, come up with any thoughts of what to give anyone for Christmas.

So he tears open the next gift on his advents calendar, declares the chocolate inside to be sufficient breakfast, and then goes to find Artemis, to take her along on an ill-advised last minute shopping trip. It doesn't go too well, of course, and it takes far longer than it reasonably should, and Artemis isn't helping either.

By sunset, Kit is cold and hungry and sincerely glad that he managed to get most of his presents wrapped by salesclerks. He would be embarrassed, but then again, he could have done worse and simply not bought any presents, or ordered them online and have them arrive at some point in January.

Artemis manages to fall asleep on the way back home, and Kit ends up carrying her and the gifts he bought, and he vows to himself that next year, he will either drag someone along to help or come up with ideas sometime in November, and then order everything and have it sent home, saving him the Christmas shopping.

The collection of presents, after Kit has added his to it, has grown bigger than the tree itself, and it looks rather ridiculous altogether. And of course, as soon as he thinks that, Nashe sets down yet another present, this one bigger than the tree all on its own, and Kit decides that clearly, next year, they will either need fewer gifts or a bigger tree.


	17. Chapter 17

[The turkey that should have been today's prompt has escaped. However, the very, very awesome Nimblermortal has written that bit of story since I found turkeys rather worrying. A link will be provided along with the other chapters yet to be found.]


	18. Crackers

Today's gift is wrapped twice, the brown wrapping paper covering something sparkly and pink. It doesn't seem to wish to be opened like a normal present would, no matter how much Kit is tearing at it.

After five minutes filled with cursing and confusion, he finally puts one end between his teeth, and grabs the other with both hands, and pulls. It comes apart with a surprisingly loud 'pop' sound, and glitter spills all over Kit's hands.

Beneath the glitter, there is a tiny, bright pink paper crown and a note reading, in Will's most careful handwriting, Why is six afraid of seven? Because seven eight nine.

Kit does not shout, groan, curse, or roll his eyes out of his head. He does, however, go and wake up Will by stealing his blanket and pillow. Then, he sits on Will to make sure he will be paid attention to.

"You owe me for this," he says.

Will makes some sort of grunting sound.

"I'm not sure what, but you do. Lots of it," Kit says.

Will presses his face into the mattress and waves his hands about for a while. Then he says, without moving his head, "Sure, no problem. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Kit shrugs, and then picks up the just-discarded blanket and pillow again, curls around Will, and then falls asleep.


	19. Fireplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for this idea goes to Aisling, because she's awesome, and also suggested that Kit would totally like kebab. And without that suggestion, this chapter would have taken quite a different turn. Thanks!

Dinner is quiet, mostly because Ben is far too horrified to allow any sort of conversation, staring fixedly at his salad and trying to ignore everyone around him. And every time someone tries to say something, he makes a vaguely distressed sound, and waves his hands about in a manner that seems to say "please just get this over with please".

Kit thinks it's hilarious. But then again, he currently has yoghurt sauce and barbecue sauce running over his fingers, and probably also running over his chin, and he's glad that he isn't currently wearing any sort of expensive or white t-shirt. There must be a way to eat kebab neatly and without dropping or spilling half of it over one's hands. He hasn't found it yet, though, and he doesn't care much, too busy enjoying his food.

Across from him, Kyd seems to have given up entirely, having gotten a soup bowl, dumped the whole thing in it, and is currently using, by turns, a fork and his fingers, to pick up various pieces and try to get them into his mouth. It works, for a given value of working, which admits a fair amount of spillage over Kyd's shirt. Will, somehow, has managed to be very, very neat about it. Until he noticed just how distressed Ben is about the whole situation, and the resulting giggling fit has destabilised the structure of his dinner enough to start falling apart slowly, and Will is trying to keep it from disintegrating entirely by taking bits from whichever spot is currently falling apart the worst. It's not helping much, and so far, the only result seems to be that Will has ketchup smeared over one of his eyebrows.

Nashe, meanwhile, possibly to be kind to Ben, had managed to eat down his dinner in record time, leaving his surroundings and his clothes mostly clean, but roughly half of his face covered in yoghurt sauce. Ben doesn't even look up when he offers him a handkerchief, and Kit wonders how often this exchange must have happened before, to go this smoothly.

Edward and Richard, for reasons not entirely fathomable to mankind, decided that clearly, the most sensible approach to food this prone to falling apart was to take it apart and rebuild it repeatedly with various minor changes and additions. Somehow, they have managed not to spill anything, so far, and Kit wonders if maybe, they are cheating, and if so, how.

And then Nashe, apparently getting bored, asks, "You know what would be really nice right now?"

"No," Ben tells him.

"Go on then, guess," Nashe says.

"Not no, I don't know, but no, it wouldn't be."

"You don't know what I was trying to say."

"I know you."

"That doesn't immediately make it a bad idea."

"I also know everyone else in this house, which does. Especially now that," Ben says, and then finds himself interrupted by Artemis, who seems to finally have finished her afternoon nap and is now demanding attention. Ben pets her as though worrying she might burst into flame or turn into some blood-thirsty monster all of a sudden, and seems to have temporarily forgotten that he was saying something.

"Especially now that?" Will prompts, trying to use a fork he stole from Edward as a mirror so that he could clean the ketchup off his face.

"Especially now that there is a puppy who seems to be magnifying any chaos you generate," Ben tells him.

"And what was the idea, please?" Richard asks. He's licking something off his fingers, but seems to have managed to eat dinner without cause any other chaos anywhere. Kit is vaguely impressed.

"I want a fireplace. A nice one," Nashe says.

Richard looks at Edward, and then at Ben, an expression of deep worry on his face.

"It would be very comfortable, and also nice and warm," Nashe adds, almost defensively.

"It would also involve us getting near an open flame," Kyd says. "And I'm fairly certain that no one would want that."

"We're not that bad," Nashe says.

Kit clears his throat, and then gestures at everyone. Nashe gives him a confused look. Kit gestures some more. Nashe shakes his head.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Nashe, look at what happens when we try to eat dinner. Can you imagine what would happen if fire was involved here?"

Nashe pouts. Loudly. Which shouldn't be possible, but he somehow makes it work.

For a moment, no one says anything, and Kit worries that maybe, just maybe, Ben is seriously contemplating Nashe's idea now, and he cannot allow that to continue.

"Come on," he says, with more enthusiasm than he feels. "We should all get cleaned up, and then Nashe can have his cuddles and romance without setting fire to anything. We could even watch a movie."

Will lays a hand on his forehead in mock concern. "Are you sure you're alright? Do we need to call a doctor?" he asks.

"Did you catch a touch of diplomacy? Do we need to keep you away from Will for a while?" Kyd adds.

"Cuddles?" Nashe asks.

Kit nods, just barely.

And then Nashe has disappeared, along with most of the chaos their dinner has caused. There is water running in the kitchen, and two door opening and closing, and then there is water running in the shower, and it's barely ten minutes later when Nashe is back, wearing the shorts and shirt currently serving as his pyjama, and demanding that Kit go take a shower right now, because it's no fair promising cuddles and then not delivering.

In the end, they're all curled up on the sofa, and Richard has found some horrible action comedy somewhere, and Nashe is complaining about the lack of blankets now, and seems to have momentarily forgotten about the fireplace, especially after Artemis curls up on his lap and demands to be petted.

For once, the peace and quiet feels like it might last, even if only until tomorrow morning.


	20. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for the plot goes to the twins, who decided this morning that a centimetre of snow was more than enough for a snowman

When Kit wakes up on Saturday morning, the ground is covered in about half a centimetre of snow, and his advents calendar holds a chocolate bar and an overly cheerful message from Edward about early mornings.

The house is empty and quiet, and Kit wonders if there is something he missed, just for a moment, before he hears barking and screaming outside the windows. When he looks, Will seems to be entirely preoccupied with building something, something tiny, while Edward is trying to keep Artemis from destroying it. The rest don't seem to be doing much, standing around in an extremely loose circle around Will, shouting encouragement or throwing things at him.

It's tempting to stay inside, where it's warm and try and safe, but it's also lonely and boring, when all his friends are outside and happy. So Kit goes to get some breakfast (there is porridge on the stove, still warm) and something to drink (coffee, because apparently someone forgot his, and Kit has no problems claiming abandoned coffee as his own), and then goes outside, staying close to the door, where the house is still sheltering him from the worst of the weather.

Richard catches sight of him, and then shouts for Edward, and Kit has barely time to set down his coffee somewhere out of reach before Artemis is running up to him, barking happily.

Kit pets her for a while, eventually picking up his coffee again before it goes completely cold. Once the cup is empty, and Artemis is still demanding to be petted, he picks her up and joins the others.

"What's happening?" he asks Ben.

"Good morning," Ben answers, as though that had any relation to the question Kit asked.

"Good morning," Kit says, because of course Ben has to make sure that proper greetings are exchanged. Especially after last night. Revenge is sweet, Kit things.

"Will is trying to build a snowman," Ben tells him.

"I'm succeeding," Will shouts, picking up something and turning to face them. "Look," he says.

On the palm of his hand is a snowman, with eyes and a nose and even little stick-arms. It's barely five inch tall, and Kit suspects that it will be gone by noon, but everyone else applauds Will, and Edward even hugs him in celebration.

Will catches Kit's glace, and grins at him, somewhere between proud and happy, and Kit can't help it, he has to kiss him, lips cold and dry, and it finally feels like in a few days, it might be Christmas.

The snowman is placed on the windowsill, with a collection of rocks and twigs for company, and then they head inside for second breakfast, and some tea.


	21. Relatives

Artemis barks the whole house awake at barely eight on Sunday morning, and one by one, they stumble down to the kitchen, Kit clutching today's gift, Will holding a pillow, Edward wrapped half in his blanket and half in Nashe.

Nashe's Mother, wearing a rather horribly coloured Christmas jumper, seems to be cooking something or other, while Nashe's father is playing with Artemis, trying to keep her quiet.

"Sorry, we didn't want to wake you up," Nashe's father says, more to Artemis than to anyone else.

"No worries," Nashe tells them.

"You haven't said you would come to visit, have you?" Ben asks, a question in form rather than tone.

"No, no, don't worry," Margaret Nashe says. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"We wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas," William Nashe adds. "We're going skiing over the holidays, and we won't be around the 25th."

"Merry Christmas," Richard says, dry enough to be almost dismissive, but then again, Nashe is the only one used to having parents around, and they are used to Nashe's dysfunctional and occasionally awkward friends.

There is the usual collective mumbling of 'thanks' and 'merry Christmas' from everyone, and William goes to set the table now that Artemis won't have to be kept from waking everyone anymore.

For just a moment, it feels all wrong and clumsy, like they're in the wrong place and time, like maybe someone should leave, and then Margaret turns around, tells them to sit down, breakfast is getting cold, and then everyone is eating.

Kit sometimes wonders how it works, how Nashe's parents are the ones who decided to adopt them, the ones who show up around Christmas and Easter and everyone's birthday, with small gifts and good wishes, the ones who send postcards from their holidays and call to invite everyone for dinner if they haven't heard anything for a while.

None of it makes sense, not for any definition of sense Kit knows of, but it's still early, and there is breakfast, so there is no point in wondering just now, when he could instead simply enjoy the company.


	22. Tradition

Kit is barely awake when the shouting starts in the kitchen. There is yet more chocolate in his advents calendar, and it should have been a good day, but apparently it wasn't to be.

In the kitchen, Will and Kyd are standing across from each other, both of them just barely dressed and awake. Will is tense in the way he only ever gets when someone brings up his education or lack thereof, and Kyd looks close to tears.

"But it's tradition," Kyd says, and he sounds like a stubborn child, and Kit would mock him for it, but there is something too frail about his tone to dare.

"And since when do we care about tradition?" Will replies, tone worryingly even.

"It's tradition!" Kyd repeats, and then adds, "You can't just skip it because you're feeling rebellious!"

"I'm not feeling rebellious, but it's the twenty-second and I have neither time nor money for it, and tradition is no argument here, not for…" and Will trails off, substituting words with gestures.

Kyd makes a sound halfway between derision and anger. "Oh, really? Because you don't fancy the effort we just…"

"That's not it!" Will interrupts him.

It only gets worse from there, voices getting louder, and Kit stands and watches in utter confusion for far too long, while they keep repeating the same argument over and over again. It's familiar as much as it is painful, because of course Kyd isn't wrong, but Will's point about them and tradition stands, but neither of them will ever see reason.

And Kit just wants them to stop, because remembering that they will never quite fit in won't make it easier, and neither will denying it.

He finally speaks up when Kyd claims that there is nothing wrong with tradition, and he wants just one reason why they shouldn't, and how Will really doesn't have any arguments left.

It takes several repetitions of Kyd's name before he stops, and then Kit is at a loss for words, is at a loss to explain how they don't fit in anywhere, and how love sometimes doesn't conquer all, and won't ever conquer an institution like church. But there must be something he can do, some way to explain what Will had been trying to say for the last some minutes. "Come here a moment," is what he finally says.

Kyd comes, mumbling about how that doesn't constitute an argument, and how it was all ridiculous, and Kit kisses him, as lightly as he can. For just a second, everything stops dead.

Kit steps back, says, "Now you see what we mean," and then waits for the tears lurking behind Kyd's eyes to spill. It's another Christmas where none of them will go to church, and they know it's hard on Kyd, but there is no point in listening to yet more hellfire preaching over their lives and loves, and it's easier on everyone if they just ignore it instead. Even if they're breaking tradition. There's worse things, Kit has learnt over the years.


	23. Stockings

The curious ball of wrapping paper that had been number 23 has been replaced by a bright red Christmas stocking when Kit wakes up. There is a note pinned to it, Kyd's feather-light letters telling him to place said stocking on the kitchen table and then not to touch it any further.

Kit shrugs and obliges. It doesn't seem to be doing much, though. He keeps staring at the stocking while he eats breakfast, and when it doesn't do anything, he starts poking it with his spoon. When it still doesn't do anything, even after repeatedly being poked, Kit shrugs and goes to get dressed and brush his teeth.

When he comes back, the note has been replaced by one in Will's drunken-spider-writing, telling him to stop poking it, damn you. Something has been stuffed into the stocking as well, but Kit knows better than to mess with Will when he tries to be secretive or mysterious. So he goes to find the collection of notes that he should be turning into a play one of these days, makes some more coffee and starts working.

It's barely half an hour later when Nashe stumbles into the kitchen, followed by Artemis.

"Do something about your dog before she wakes up the whole house," is what Nashe says by way of greeting.

Kit sighs, and sets his pen aside, and then goes to find Artemis's leash and his scarf. He doesn't mind walking her, but he was working, and he doesn't like interruptions. Artemis, though, seems entirely unconcerned by Kit's less than happy mood. And after half an hour of watching her sniff various things that Kit wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, and then bark happily at said things, Kit can't quite manage to feel annoyed any longer.

It's close to an hour until he and Artemis get back home, and another twenty minutes she keeps him busy, demanding attention and affection. It's only when she falls asleep in the middle of the hallway that he can finally return to his work and the stocking.

The note has changed again, this time Nashe's writing, less constructed and forced than usual, and Kit is delighted to see that when Nashe isn't trying too hard to seem unaffected, his writing flows just as easily as Kit's, university and the need to take careful and thorough notes apparently having left an impression even on someone as unimpressible as Nashe.

"Don't touch," the note reads and in smaller letters underneath, "no, seriously, don't touch, this isn't a dare, just be patient for a while."

Kit sighs, and then picks up his pen again and goes back to writing. It's the worst part of it, trying to fit a disorganised collection of thoughts and notes into a single coherent plot, slow and tedious busywork. And it doesn't help that people keep interrupting him. Because barely ten minutes later, Ben walks in, holding something behind his back.

"I should try and be subtle about this, but I have things to do, and so do you. Would you please turn your back and close your eyes for thirty seconds?" he asks or rather commands.

Kit shrugs and obeys without further question.

It's only twenty-nine seconds later when Ben tells him, "You can look again. And that last line doesn't scan. You might want to give that some further thought."

There isn't much that Kit can do but nod and go back to work. Only to be interrupted again, barely a moment later, by Edward telling him that he urgently needs to go do something. He doesn't say what or where, but since he picked Kit up, bridal style, and is currently carrying him out of the kitchen, there really isn't much Kit could do against it, even if he had more information.

Edward sets him down in the hallway, and then goes back to the kitchen. Kit doesn't get a chance to wonder whether he should follow when Richard shows up, holding yet another note.

"I should have left this for you, but since patience is something no one in this house has, here," he says and hands said note to Kit.

It's Richard's handwriting, obviously enough, and it informs him that patience is a virtue, and so is not poking things after one has been told not to touch them.

"And what makes you think I care for virtue?" Kit asks after reading, because if he has to stand in the hallway and wait for his friends to carry out the most un-subtle plan to ever exist, he wants some entertainment at least, even if only in form of a rather predictable conversation.

"I don't think you do. It's fun reminding you is all."

"And this whole charade you've wasted everyone's morning on, is that fun, too?"

"That's science, actually."

Kit gives Richard a Look, capital letter included.

"It's a bet. Nashe said that telling you not to do something would be reason enough for you to do it, and Kyd said that the promise of presents would be motivation enough to behave, and Will decided we needed to prove it one way or another."

"How much are you winning right now?"

Richard smiles. "Enough."

Kit shakes his head, and then decides that of course this would be the reason for such a ridiculous plan, and then decides not to think about it anymore.

"Can I go back to work now?" he asks.

"Maybe," Richard says. "I don't think there's a reason not to."

"Can I open my presents now?"

"Yes."

"But?"

"Well, if you manage to restrain yourself, Nashe has been saying something about Belgian dark chocolate and incentives for patience."

There are without a doubt better ways to spend a day than try to work while getting interrupted at least twice an hour, but with a promise like that, Kit thinks it's a fair trade. And this way, at least, he'd have to take a break with a certain regularity.


	24. Christmas Eve

When Artemis wakes him up and demands to go outside just before eight, Kit isn't awake enough to consider his last gift. He just tears it away from the string it's fixed to, shoves it into the pocket of a sweater he picked up in the hallway, pulls on said sweater, and then goes to find clothes to cover the remainder of his body.

It's surprisingly warm out, a cloudy and windless morning, and by the time they make it back home, Artemis is exhausted, and the sun has risen long since. Kit hadn't really noticed, too caught up with watching the city wake up, and watch people try to get everything done they had forgotten about, and all the small details they had been procrastinating with.

It's not quite schadenfreude, but it's not entirely dissimilar to it, either, what Kit feels watching them hurry about. There is something decidedly reassuring that even as dysfunctional they are, and as impossible in the eyes of most of everyone, they have at least managed Christmas in a way that doesn't involve any last-minute hurries and being stressed and disorganised and upset.

He is surprised to have made it home in time for breakfast for precisely three seconds before he realises that they must have waited for him. He doesn't have the right words to say thanks, though, instead opting to do the dishes and tidy the kitchen afterwards and hoping that it got his point across.

The rest of the days follows a similar pattern, calm and quiet and peaceful. Artemis spends a part of the afternoon trying to convince Nashe that she should be given treats simply for existing, and Kit hopes his dog won't end up hopelessly spoilt. He shouldn't have underestimated Nashe though, and it's only about half an hour before Artemis realises it too, and turns to find someone more susceptible to puppy-dog eyes and whining.

Kyd keeps poking the tree, minutely shifting things and then shifting them back, and mumbling about uneven trees and bad choices all the while. There is no real anger in his voice, though, and he is happy enough to leave it alone when Edward comes to distract him with some wild and probably untrue story about theatre and ghosts.

Will decides to figure out how much of the couch he can cover with his sprawling, and he doesn't seem to care much that Kit is very much sitting on part of that couch with a book. It's distracting, especially when Will can't seem to stop moving about, and around noon, Kit has had enough. He grabs Will, pushing and dragging him about as well as he can, until Will's head is in his lap. "Stay," he tells Will, and when that doesn't seem to help much, he starts petting Will's hair. A quarter of an hour later, they're both asleep.

Richard wakes them up at a quarter to six, telling them that Ben would never speak to them again if they slept through dinner. Half a second later, when they're both looking at him as though something was terribly, terribly wrong with his face, he corrects himself. "He'll be very disappointed in your for exactly ten minutes the next time he sees you," he says.

As threats go, it might seem unimpressive, but Ben's disappointment is loud and heavy, and in general something to be avoided like the plague. And so, barely a minute later, everyone is sitting at the table, halfway between pleased that they don't have to prepare dinner and worried what new and creative miss-uses of food Ben might have devised.

Apart from Richard, that is. Richard seems neither concerned nor curious. Suspiciously so.

"You helped make dinner, didn't you?" Edward finally says, accusingly.

"He told me what to do, and I didn't set fire to anything, promise," Richard replies, holding up his hands in a protestation of innocence.

Ben smiles and then ruffles his hair. "He's been very useful and well-behaved. I didn't make him do anything but peel vegetables, trust me."

Richard pouts at him, and then changes the subject, fishing Kit's last present out of the pocket of his sweater and placing it on Kit's plate. "You might want to open this before dinner, while everyone is still awake and unpoisoned," he says. "Also, next time you borrow my clothes, would you mind emptying the pockets before you return them?"

"Yes, I would," Kit replies, and then picks up the gift, turns it over in his hands a few times, and then starts to slowly and carefully peel off the sticky tape and untie the ribbon. He wouldn't usually bother, but with six people watching him expectantly, the desire to draw it out becomes too great to resist.

It's several long moments before he finds a small box and an equally small envelope. The box holds yet more of Kit's favourite chocolates. The envelope holds a glittery-loud Christmas card. It starts singing when Kit opens it and is simply altogether horrible. But as far as Kit is concerned, the message inside, in Kyd's most careful writing, makes more than up for it.

_Dear Kit_   
_We seem to have successfully tricked you into thinking that all manners of things shall be well, and Christmas will be worth celebrating. There isn't enough boundless and unjustified optimism around that you could have your share of it, but Ben has some realism left over, and Will has some reckless joie de vivre they'd be willing to part with. And Edward and Richard have gracefully offered to simply exact revenge on everyone and everything trying to hurt you, regardless of the sensibility or feasibility of this. And Nashe and me, we figured that maybe between the two of us, there should be some faith and trust you could find use for if we left it to you._   
_It's not much, and it won't be any sort of immediate solution, but we're here for you. Take care._   
_Lots of love and a merry Christmas_

It's followed by everyone's signature. On the back of the card, written in tiny letters with what looks to be a cheap ballpoint pen, Richard has added a PS.

_You might find such emotional openness and honesty disturbing or unusual. Rest assured that it was done under duress and took us the better part of a month to phrase properly. And tomorrow, to balance the universe, Will might put ice cubes under your pillow and Nashe found some blue dye he wants to mix into your shampoo. Enjoy the peace while it lasts._


End file.
